


When Everything Feels Like the Movies

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, First Time, M/M, Movie Quotation(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1311682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean abuses movie quotes all day but it doesn't work out too badly in the end.</p><p>blame <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious">Colette_Capricious</a> for the Meatloaf :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Everything Feels Like the Movies

 

 

It started in the morning, with a new low, even for them. Mrs Gibson was suffering post traumatic amnesia and she had forgotten the whole hour following the discovery of her husband’s body. The police had bought their (Dean’s) story about Agent Luke Bridgewater’s qualifications in counselling (“Please Mrs Gibson, call me Luke”) and even provided a private room for the session.

 

Sam had made a token protest but he was the obvious choice, Dean’s FBI persona being clearly more of the quick-on-the-draw type. He had to admit that it had played out well. The amnesia was real and he had gathered enough information from their session to ascertain that the memory loss had a supernatural cause. There had been nothing to suggest demonic possession but there did seem to be a fair bit of ectoplasm in this town, which confirmed that there was a more than run-of-the-mill vengeful spirit on the rampage, as they had suspected.

 

Dean (Agent Hallé) was waiting across the parking lot afterwards but Sam didn’t see him at first. He was watching Mrs Gibson and her daughter make their way to their car and hoping that he had been more of a help then a hindrance, despite the deceit.

 

“Luke!” Dean yelled, loud enough that Mrs Gibson glanced over too. Sam sighed and made his way to the Impala. He saw the smirk on Dean’s face and knew what he was going to say before he said it. He widened his eyes and shook his head meaningfully but it was too late. “I am your father!”

 

God, his brother was such an insensitive prick. He cast a look at Mrs Gibson and the ten year old girl at her side, trying to convey apology. Fortunately, the mother just looked distantly amused and the girl seemed oblivious.

 

“Jackass,” he hissed at Dean, slamming the door a little harder than usual.

 

****

 

“Give me your badge,” Sam demanded, once they were on the road. He shrugged free of his suit jacket and held out his hand, simultaneously opening the glove box. When Dean made no move to comply Sam frowned up at him. Dean was grinning at the road like it was made of pie.

 

"Badges? We ain't got no badges! We don't need no badges!” he said, banging his hands on the wheel for emphasis. “I don't have to show you any stinking badges!”

 

“Oh for...” Sam reached over and fished the badge out of Dean’s inside jacket pocket himself. He was careful not to brush against the warmth of Dean’s shirt but he could feel the heat on the back of his hand anyway, being finely attuned to it.

 

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean taunted, “You’re makin’ it too easy, man.”

 

So this was how today was going to be then? Great. Awesome. Sam’s face might have betrayed him, lips twitching up at the corners, but he ducked his head and stashed the ID in the back of the glove box to hide it.

 

“It hitched a ride in Mrs Gibson and used her to move to its next victim, I think. And you need a refresher course in victim compassion.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

****

 

It was time for a change of tyres, so they left the Impala with an obliging mechanic and walked a few streets over to the home of Josh Hardy, three years deceased, to interview his parents.

 

Josh was the only deceased member of his high school football team and his team mates were dropping like flies. Their only crime, so far as Sam could make out, had been success at life after high school football, where Josh had failed.

 

Melissa Hardy had kept a scrap book of Josh’s big games which she showed them with a futile pride that made Sam feel hopeless inside. The dates of the murders tallied with significant match anniversaries. Bingo.

 

Keith Hardy was quiet and withdrawn throughout the interview, only rising to snatch back the album as they made to leave. Sam saw the black ectoplasm dripping from his nose too late to save Dean from the album-become-missile launched with inhuman strength. It impacted with a sickening _thunk_ and Dean stayed down as Josh, currently in possession of his father’s body, advanced. “I’m better than all of you!” he raged.

 

Sam had a moment of inspiration and began to recite a generic demon exorcism. Josh howled once and Keith’s body fell to the floor before the exorcism was even half complete. Sam finished up, just to be safe, before rushing to Dean’s side. “Dean, are you bleeding? Let me see!”

 

Dean looked up from where he was hunched over and Sam was relieved to see that infuriatingly wonderful smirk. “I ain’t got time to bleed,” he said.

 

“’Course not.” Sam tried to pry his hands away and get a look anyway but Dean shrugged him off and stood up.

 

“I’m okay,” he said. “Just got the wind knocked outta me.”

 

They checked that Keith was alive and he was. Trembling, breathing shallowly and probably traumatised for life, but alive. Then they left.

 

“Was that Josh ‘The Bull’ Hardy?” Dean asked as he cut across the Hardy’s front lawn.

 

“Yeah.” Sam walked behind Dean, just to make sure everything was moving how it should. It was. It really was.

 

"Well, nobody's perfect."

 

Sam ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. He begged to differ.

 

 

****

 

“Where is she then?” Dean asked, casting around for the Impala. They had time on their side now. Josh would need to do some serious regrouping after being exorcised. He should be tethered to his remains for a while.

 

The mechanic nodded in the direction of the office, “Just ‘round back, in the corner,” he said.

 

Sam felt a moment’s confusion when Dean frowned, put his hands on his hips and pouted. He looked like a poor imitation of a disgruntled washer woman. Was something wrong? Dean had been real friendly with the guy up until now. He seemed to have a natural affinity with mechanics.

 

“Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

 

Sam really should have seen that one coming. He made a face as he peeled off fifty dollar bills from the roll, one for each new tyre. “Sorry about him.”

 

The mechanic seemed to share Dean’s sense of humour however, God help him, and he nodded affably. “Yeah, she’s a real beauty alright,” he said. “Y’all drive safe now.”

 

Sam watched as Dean inspected his new tyres before running a hand lovingly along the hood and getting in beside Sam. He started her up and paused for a moment, waggling his eyebrows. “ _My precious_ ,” he hissed, caressing the steering wheel.

 

“Okay, that’s creepy.” Sam allowed a small smile in return and they peeled out of the garage into the lunchtime traffic.

 

****

 

It seemed that everyone had decided to take lunch together and all got in their cars in the last five minutes. There was a queue to the end of the street, going nowhere fast. Sam leaned out of the window, straining to see around a truck four cars ahead. “Road works,” he informed Dean, ducking back in.

 

Dean nodded and they crept forward slowly.

 

“Lunch and then the library Sam?” Dean sounded hopeful.

 

“Library then lunch. It’s not even twelve thirty and I need a wireless connection to find the burial site.”

 

“Surely you can't be serious," Dean said.

 

Sam opened his mouth to say something cutting about Dean’s insatiable appetite but then he caught the look Dean was giving him, expectant, willing Sam to catch on with the power of his raised eyebrows.

 

"I am serious,” Sam deadpanned. “And don't call me Shirley."

 

Dean laughed low and Sam felt smug. He wasn’t sure what kind of crazy had bitten Dean today but it was shaping up to be one of the good days and he’d take them where he could find them.

 

“Library first,” he added, just to be clear.

 

A white monster of an SUV pulled up beside them, the front of it almost touching Sam’s door, as though it could drive right over them. The guy wanted to turn left into... well, it wasn’t even a road that Dean was blocking, more like a driveway. The driver was grade-A asshole material. He laid on the horn and leant out of his window, shouting something and gesticulating.

 

Dean smirked, immune to mere human road rage. “Roll the window down Sammy,” he said after a bit more horn blowing and shouting had passed. Sam almost didn’t, but the guy _was_ seriously annoying. Dean waved Sam back out of the way, cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned over for maximum impact.

 

Sam was expecting something out of an action movie or a gangster movie. Scar Face or Taxi Driver seemed like likely candidates.

 

Dean bellowed “YOU... SHALL... NOT... PASS!” and Sam cracked up. The guy retreated into his SUV, clearly out-crazied and wanting to wait it out in safety. Dean looked very pleased with himself. When half a minute or so had passed and Sam was still in fits of laughter, the guy reversed and drove away, carefully not looking at them. Dean joined in then, and they laughed long and hard like they hardly ever did anymore.

 

Yeah. Today was a good day.

 

****

 

“I think we should assume that the amnesia is caused by possession and that he’s strong enough to move around like that without needing a physical anchor. Kind of like the Fairfax case but without the lock of hair,” Sam said, as they walked to their room. “We know where his body is. It might just be that simple.” That sounded like wishful thinking, even to his own ears but Dean just nodded sagely.

 

“So be it,” he said, unlocking the door.

 

“Uh, yeah.” Sam passed him the laptop and his suit jacket and beckoned for the keys to the Impala. “I’ll go and buy the shovels and stuff then, at the hardware store we passed.”

 

“M’gonna eat my cereal with a fork and do my homework in the dark Sammy.” Dean flashed him a shit eating grin, one hand on his belt buckle, and closed the door in Sam’s face.

 

Okaaaay. That was a movie Sam didn’t remember seeing.

 

****

 

Sam got shovels, lighter fluid, a dozen books of matches, a dozen lighters, cloths and various other cleaning supplies. There was a box of old music cassettes at the counter, fifty cents each, and he rummaged through idly while he waited his turn.

 

****

 

He blasted the ghost of Josh Hardy with rocksalt and it dissipated before their eyes. Dean grabbed him, tugging at his arm and laughing, riding the adrenaline high, the promise of flames already dancing in his eyes.

 

“Sammy! Sammy!” he grinned, “I see dead people!”

 

“Dean!” Sam blasted another round of rocksalt at the shadow already reforming beneath a nearby tree. This spirit was strong and fast. It snapped Dean out of his antics, and he was immediately dousing the remains, all fluid efficiency that Sam could only admire from the corner of his vision. The grave went up with a deep _whumph_ , glorifying Dean in the dancing orange light. Dean Winchester, God of Fire.

 

****

 

They were both grinning when they got back to the car. The graveyard was on the outskirts of town and it was early Friday evening. The small fire was starting to attract some attention by the sound of the approaching sirens and they had jogged the final stretch to the car, too far away to be really concerned but just in case. Sam was pretty confident they hadn’t been seen.

 

"Fasten your seatbelts,” Dean crowed, closing the trunk and slipping into place, “It's going to be a bumpy night.”

 

Sam watched the orange street lights give way to the midnight stretch of open road as they left the town, hopefully ghost free, behind them. They were about six hours from home, five at a stretch. “We going to drive all night?” he asked Dean.

 

“Nah.” Dean fiddled with the radio dial until quiet soft rock filled the space. “Gonna find a motel a few towns over.” He looked over at Sam, eyes crinkling. “We're a long way from Kansas, Dorothy,” he said. 

Sam snorted his amusement and the miles passed quietly for a while, Foreigner playing in the background. 

 

Sam remembered the Meatloaf tape he had added to his purchases on impulse and slotted it in. “Really Sam? Meatloaf?” Dean asked, voice in conflict with his actions as he turned the volume up.

 

Pretty soon Dean was singing along at the top of his lungs. It was that kind of day. “ _Baby you’re the only thing in this whole world that’s pure and good and right..._ ” he sang, eyes sliding to Sam. Sam felt his cheeks heat, thankful for the dark. He watched as the wind ran imaginary fingers through Dean’s hair.

 

“Dude,” Sam complained, realising the speedometer was pushing eighty, “What’s the hurry?”

 

Dean broke off from his singing for long enough to give Sam a completely manic grin and shout over the noise of the wind and the roar of the engine. “I feel the need!”

 

Sam was okay with dying in a road accident like this. Totally okay with it actually. It made him think of a Smiths song that Dean probably wouldn’t have known. The pleasure, the privilege was his.

 

He shook his head anyway, needing to maintain the illusion of exasperation for both their sakes, while really the adrenaline was flooding his veins, rushing and making him giddy. It felt like liquid light. “The need for speed,” he finished in sync with Dean. “You’re such a nerd.”

 

Dean pressed the pedal to the metal and the Impala roared even louder. They passed the road sign for the next town. “Takes one to know one, Sam-I-Am,” he said fondly.

 

****

 

They listened to Bat Out Of Hell once more (“Play it again Sam”/“You know that’s a misquote, right?”), quiet while the tape rewound and then both singing along for the second time. Sam popped the tape out when it had finished and wound the volume down, wanting the rumble of the road and the quiet company more than the static of the radio.

 

Dean drove them onwards, gradually slowing and finally pulling over onto rubble, nothing but dark fields on either side bathed in silver-white light from the waxing moon.

 

The absence of the engine left a heavy silence charged with expectation, each hyper-aware of the other. Dean leant back and sighed, resting his head, hands still on the wheel. The ringing silence, combined with the dark and the camaraderie of their day, felt like arriving. It felt like a hundred such night-time arrivals of their childhood, somewhere unexplored. Another new start, another fresh hunt. _What are we doing here?_ Sam wondered. They hadn’t been going long enough for Dean to be tired and he made no move to get out and answer any call of nature. Sam snuck a look sideways. Dean was biting his bottom lip, neck stretching away from Sam as he scanned the night sky, clear and beautiful outside the driver’s window. _Where are we?_ Sam wondered. Somewhere between brothers and something else perhaps.

 

Dean turned, feeling the question in Sam’s gaze. “Can I ask you something Sam?”

 

Sam’s breath caught in his chest at the sincerity of Dean’s expression. His heart beat wildly. “Yes?” They were leaning in, neither moving fast enough to be noticeable, drawn together like opposite poles. My God, was Dean going to kiss him?

 

Dean held his gaze for a moment. So close.“Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?”

 

“Wha...?” Dean was halfway out of the car, laughing, before Sam could grab his shirt. “Get back here you _asshole_!”

 

Once Sam had escaped his seatbelt he caught up with Dean easily, the faster runner ever since he had turned seventeen. He took Dean’s legs out from under him but kept his distance as Dean rolled perfectly into a crouch. He held back from taking it further. Once upon a time they would have wrestled it out but Sam felt uncertain. There was anticipation between them, as though the asteroid that had been on a crash course for years was finally moments from impact and they were still both too stubborn to acknowledge it.

 

“Come on,” Dean led them back to the car and routed around in the trunk for a couple of beers that Sam hadn’t known were there. They were warm and bubbles ran down the sides when they were opened, but Sam’s tasted inexplicably good. “We never do this anymore,” Dean said, hopping up onto the Impala’s hood and lying back against her windshield to cling on and watch as the world turned in her dizzying sky-bowl full of stars.

 

Sam joined him, maintaining the acceptable distance. He placed his bottle where it belonged in the hollow of the grill, resting on the wipers next to Dean’s. Glass clinked and ground softly as the bottles rubbed up against each other.

 

****

 

Sam was nearly at the bottom of his bottle and the air was turning cold but he was reluctant to finish the last drop. Dean seemed to feel the same way. Suddenly Dean said, “Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars," in a breathy female voice, shattering the crystalline silence.

 

Sam snorted. “Okay, come on then. Get it all out of your system.”

 

Dean feigned an innocent look and Sam poked him in the ribs with his forefinger. “Okay...” he rolled sideways so that he was facing Sam and narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

 

“S’true,” Sam tilted his head and his beer bottle at Dean in acknowledgement. There was a moment of silence for the enduring wisdom of Ferris Beueller.

 

“Yeah.” The electricity between them was back but Sam wasn’t going to be fooled again... except that Dean was the one leaning all the way in this time, reaching round to cup the back of Sam’s neck, muttering, “Carpe diem, right?” and _kissing him_.

 

It was beautiful. Soft, hesitant and tender. Almost reverent. It was part of the magic of the stars, the magic that had been there every time before when they had sat out on the hood drinking beer. They could have been kissing every time. _Time_ , thought Sam, _was a crook_.

 

It went on for long moments, until they were both trembling too badly. Dean rested his face against Sam then, mouth open and breathing loud, eyes screwed shut. Sam held him and rocked him slightly, but not so much that it couldn’t be denied later.

 

“C’mon.” He tugged Dean up against him so that his back was to Sam’s chest. Sam raised his knees on either side and wrapped his arms around Dean’s middle. He rested his nose and lips against the back of Dean’s hair, breathing him in. Sam threaded their fingers together and Dean stroked the mound of Sam’s thumb. After a while Dean twisted around to catch Sam’s eye.

 

“Yeah?” Sam asked softly, “Go on then.”

 

"Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

 

Sam swallowed hard against the lump trying to form in his throat. “ _You’re the King of the World_ ,” he whispered into Dean’s hair, and felt him shiver.

 

****

 

The motel room that Dean had paid for had two beds. Sam perched on the end of his bed in dim lamplight, waiting for Dean to finish showering off the grave dirt.

 

He emerged in a towel, steam billowing around him, and Sam had to narrow his eyes against the bright halogens in the bathroom and the glorious silhouette that was Dean Winchester, God of Motels.

 

He brushed past Sam on his way to the other bed, possibly because that’s where his bag was, possibly because that’s where he intended to sleep. Sam would find out soon enough.

 

“Don’t go into the light,” Dean whispered when Sam got up to take his turn in the shower. It was so quiet that Sam might not have heard him.

 

Wherever Dean wanted to sleep it would be okay.

 

****

 

Sam woke up the next morning with Dean’s face inches away from his own on the same pillow, eyes wide and startling green. They crinkled when he saw that Sam was awake and he started to say something. Sam reckoned it was a toss-up between the quote about cats and the one about napalm but he didn’t let him finish. He kissed Dean and it was firm, warm and perfect, morning breaths mingling and stubble rasping, their mouths and bodies slotting around each other like it was normal.

 

They stayed in Sam’s bed, hidden away from the rest of the world while early morning ran its course outside and became mid-morning, with all the noises of weekend motel guests and their cars that entailed.

 

The next time Sam woke up Dean was pulling on his jeans and talking about coffee. He paused in the doorway on his way out and grinned. “I’ll be back.”

 

Sam threw a pillow but it hit the door.

 

 


End file.
